


lucky love

by starrwatcherr



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Friends With Benefits, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Time Skip, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23531917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrwatcherr/pseuds/starrwatcherr
Summary: “Legend says whoever comes here tonight will find true love. Do you believe that?”Sylvain presses a kiss into her palm, his eyes flickering up to her. “Maybe. I did follow here with you after all.”Dorothea fights a smile, instead focusing on his lips. “Does your tongue always tell such lies? Or does it speak the truth?”“Perhaps it’s a mix of somber truth and pretty lies."Two lovers meet in the Goddess Tower during the ball, wondering if this union is true romance or just lucky love. apart of a trade for rj/@sylvthea on twitter.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	lucky love

**Author's Note:**

> russian and italian are minor languages spoken in faerghus n adrestia bc i said so. i need to write more dorovain smut bc i love them and i'm here for two sluts running away from feelings.  
> this was apart of a trade with @sylvthea on twitter (link: https://twitter.com/sylvthea?s=20) please check out rj's art and give them a follow, they are really amazing n their dorovains are top tier, we eatin good.  
> stay safe out there. times are weird. 
> 
> i'm @starrwatcherr on twitter.

The Goddess Tower is silent. Dorothea’s heartbeat thunders in her ears. 

Fingertips trace up her legs, along the back of her knee, grazing the soft of her skin that makes her fight a grasp. His nails graze softly, trading her as she bites the bottom of her lip. 

Her fingers tremble slightly, barely noticeable except to the keen observer. A soft laugh fills the Tower. “The temptress becomes the seduced—” Sylvain begins to say. 

His roving hands play with the skirt of her uniform, the soft of her side, and fiddle with her brassiere underneath the blazer. He looms over her, consuming her being in shadow. Her hand finds his shoulder, using all her strength to force him to be at level with her eyes. 

Sylvain looks struck for a second before Dorothea softly caresses his face. “Kneel.” She says, both soft and strong. 

He looks bested, as though they are fighting in a sword duel. His ginger head bobs slowly, slipping to his knees as though he is a being of ice, standing too close to a hot flame. As he kneels before her, he keeps his eyes on hers.

“Whatever my lady orders.” Sylvain says, his voice above a whisper. His breath is hot against her skin. “I  _ am _ a giving man after all.”

“A lie.” She says. 

“You think that I don’t give?”

“No, I know you give, but only for the benefit of yourself.”

“Ask anyone in the Blue Lions house. Mercedes and Annette—“

“I believe I would only get the truth out of kind Ingrid.” She shoots.

His gaze narrows. “So I sleep around. It’s fair game for fate.”

“You believe in fate?”

“I am a romantic man after all.”

“Then I suppose it’s fate that I have you wrapped around my finger, Sylvain?” Dorothea whispers. Her hand cups his face for a moment. Her thumb grazes over his cheek and over his upper lip. The pad of her thumb traces his face before settling on his bottom lip. His lips press against it, gently sucking her thumb.

He presses a final kiss against the pad of her digit. “I’ll admit that you’ve got a certain magic about you.” He confesses. 

“Legend says whoever comes here tonight will find true love. Do you believe that?”

Sylvain presses a kiss into her palm, his eyes flickering up to her. “Maybe. I did follow here with you after all.”

Dorothea fights a smile, instead focusing on his lips. “Does your tongue always tell such lies? Or does it speak the truth?”

“Perhaps it’s a mix of somber truth and pretty lies. Here is a truth though...” He says softly. “I have been thinking about you during the entire ball. All night really.”

Dorothea fights a blush, her hands roving to touch his neck. She drags a fingernail along his skin, watching as his brow twitches, his lip fighting a curl. “How am I to know if you’re lying to me?”

“I wouldn’t kneel before  _ any _ woman.” He confesses.

Alarm raises in her mind, watching as he gets to his feet slowly.

“I don’t recall asking you to stand, Sylvain.” She says evenly.

“And I don’t remember asking you to dominate me, Dorothea.” He says just as quietly.

She stares up into his eyes, her heartbeat thudding louder in her ears. She hasn’t been this excited in... in years. And for what? Some playboy classmate who touches all the right places and speaks so softly to her?

“And who cares if I asked?” She asks, a hand slipping up to grasp his scalp. She watches as his head pulls back a little bit and his lips curve into a smile. 

“I do. It’s not often I bottom.”

“More girls fall beneath your hand that way?”

He shrugs, smirking a little. “They all like a lover who leaves them shaking and yearning for more.”

“You consider yourself a lover?”

“What else would I be?”

Dorothea lets go of his scalp, her hand slipping down his neck and to his shoulder. He holds her a little closer, as if they are about to dance.

“Is that what you chase? Love?”

“Everyone does.”

Her gaze narrows. Sylvain’s smile fades. “Or so I suppose.” He says. “Others like us chase a lucky love. Though we aren’t lucky, are we Dorothea?”

“Lucky to be alive?” She asks almost cruelly.

“Lucky to be lovers.” He whispers softly.

“You consider me to be your lover?”

“Yes. As the only woman who I love tonight.”

“ _ Just _ for tonight?”

His gaze flickers about her face. He raises a hand to flutter about her face before she turns her head to look away. Gently, he rests a finger on her chin, turning her head back to face him. “At least, for now.” He says, pressing a soft kiss on her lips. Softly, he whispers. “But I’m always up for more rendezvous with you, sweet Dorothea.”

“And what if I look for real love, true love. Not just lucky love?” She whispers.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to work your magic again.” He smiles. His hands wander slowly along her sides before going under her uniform. His rough fingertips trace the soft fabric of her under dress. Consumed with hunger, she grabs a fistful of his uniform, wrinkling it.

They’ll be asked where they were. His hand finds her brassiere, running over the fabric tauntingly.

“That, I suppose I could do.”

“As I would want you to,  _ moya lyubov _ .”

His lips trace her neck, making a mark that won’t be easy to hide. Then again, she’s always worn her love bites with pride. His hands slip beneath the cut of her blazer.

The church will look upon them as sinners. Edelgard may tell her to sit confession, or worse, work in the Cathedral for an entire moon.

“What did you call me?”

“ _ My love _ . Minor language of Faerghus.” 

“So your tongue knows more than lies and sweet nothings.”

He smiles a little, stopping his kiss to meet her gaze with renewed lust. His lip curls into a smirk. “It knows much more than that,  _ dorogoy _ .”

Her brow raises as he kisses her lips, murmuring the word  _ darling _ between breaths and kisses. His hand slips under her brassiere, fingers roving slowly up her breast. His hand is cold making her gasp. 

“Do you call every girl you sleep with that?” She hides her gasp with a question. More rattle in her brain: am I lucky he picked me? Or am I lucky to be in love?

Her eyes flicker open at the latter. Sylvain pops the buttons on her blazer, pulling it off her shoulders. She feels a blush heat her cheeks as she moves closer and closer to the wall, underneath the arch. Moonlight streams down from a hole in the ceiling; music carries on the air, rising with the heat of the ball below.

Weakly, she pries him from her neck, skin sore and raw from his tongue. She stares at him for a moment. “Do you love me?” She asks slowly. “Or my body as what it can give you?”

Sylvain only smiles before pressing a kiss to her lips, his tongue grazing the roof of her mouth. She fights a moan. “I love you with all my being, mortal and otherwise.”

And that is all Dorothea needs. Even if it is a plea of love from the mouth of another whore, another forced confession. At least he knows of the word. 

She sheds her blazer and makes Sylvain remove his, undoing the buttons of his shirt. He matches her frenzy with equally quick movements. He pulls down the blouse of her shirt, sliding her brassiere down so that her tits fall out. 

Dorothea grabs him, holding the outline of his cock in her hand. Normally, she’d tease him that he is eager as always, but words fail her. Instead, she finds that she needs comfort; be it pressure from the ball below their feet or another unsatisfied hunger from inside her. She unhooks the latch of his pants, her hand slipping in to grasp him fully. He sighs heavily, a wince caught in the back of his throat. It makes her fight a smile as he hoists her up. Her legs wrap around his hips, her back curving to the rounded arch that they hide under. Pinning her to the stone wall, Sylvain kisses her breasts, running his tongue along her nipples, pressing kisses to her ribs, along the dip in her sternum her dark birthmarks rest. 

Sylvain’s breath grows heavier, more laboured against her tits. She can feel him against her ass, hard and ready. But she wants to tease him for just a little bit longer. He sucks her left nipple hard, her hands knitting in his hair. One travels down his back, under his collar and makes a few scratches before he lets her down.

Dorothea meets his lips, distracting him with a sloppy kiss for a second before grasping him and rubbing himself down slowly, agonizingly. He moans into her mouth as she fights a smile. How simple and mewling he’s become in a touch, in a kiss, in an embrace.

“You want me to go down on you?” She teases.

“Yes.” He whispers breathlessly.

“Not gonna happen Gautier.” She laughs softly, sweetly. Sylvain frowns for a second before she presses her thumb down on the head of his cock. His breath catches and he begins to melt in her arms. She laughs a little louder.

But then, he surprises her just as suddenly, on his knees. Like a knight, he kneels again, and like a rake, his hand traces the soft behind of her knee. She quakes, watching as his hand creeps up her skirt, shifting it up her hips. She feels his hand move her panties over before his fingers slide up and in. Dorothea gasps. One hand moves her leg onto his shoulder to spread her lips. His touch is both feather soft, warm and sweet; and cold and hard, his finger curled into a hook that makes her knees shake and body tremble.

Her head meeting the brick, fighting her voice that threatens to cry out his name and moan in loss. Winner takes it all. She bites her bottom lip hard, gazing down at the kneeling knight before her. His hand slights out before adjusting his grip. He holds her gaze as his thumb rubs her clit, slipping two fingers inside her.

She gasps, hands finding his hair. “Sylvain—“

“Do you want me to you down on you, Dorothea?”

She fights her voice again, desperate to cry out ‘ _goddess yes_ ’. She licks her lips. “No.”

Sylvain only smirks and shakes his head. “You know,” He flicks her clit again, making her whole body tremble. “If you had’ve said yes—and maybe please—I would have.”

“What... use have I... for a tongue that speaks lies?” She forces out as he increases his speed.

Sylvain holds her gaze before pressing a tender kiss to her thigh. It makes her shake. “I assure you my tongue has many uses.” He says. “Aside from just lying.”

“So if I asked you to fuck me, would you lie and say yes?” She forces her voice to stay even.

“Oh Dorothea,” His hand pulls out from her cunt. He brings his fingers to his lips, slick with her. He presses a kiss to the tips before sucking them hard. It only makes her more excited; the man knows this game well. “Gladly.”

Dorothea hoists her skirt up, legs still trembling. She watches as he pulls himself out, completely hard. “Do you have protection?” She asks.

“Manuela told me contraceptive tonics can fuck with you.” He says. A lame excuse. “I won’t finish inside.”

“You better not,” She says, glancing behind herself as he turns around. Her breath labours, fingers meeting the cold wall.

“Hey.”

“What?” She glances over her shoulder.

“I wanna see your face.”

“Why?”

“A simple twitch of the face can tell a lot.” He says before tracing her cheek with his hand. “Besides, I’d like to see your face in rapture.”

“Say rapture again and you won’t get any—” Dorothea warns. 

“Fine, fine. Just. From the front.”

She nods, slowly turning. She’s used to facing away. Back in the Opera House—on the off occasions that a patron was lovelorn, looking for company and was willing to pay—she’d fuck them, and she’s always turn away. No room for kisses on the cheek or neck, whispers of  _ lover _ ,  _ darling _ in her ear. She has never been anyone’s darling.

Until now, She supposes as Sylvain pulls his cock out and hoists Dorothea up. She forces her leg up on a crumbled piece of stone, spreading again. He slides in, making her gasp a little before taking her in his arms, lifting her up and bracing her against the wall again. His hands clench around her ass, making her gasp a little as he begins to thrust.

Her breath is stolen from her, her hands clenching into his uniform, his skin, whatever she can grasp. “Pull yourself closer.” He whispers into her ear. She grasps tighter, her legs trembling as he thrusts harder. She chokes out curses, prayers, his name even a few times as he quickens his speed, rutting into her hard and fast.

His lips meet her neck again, teeth grazing her flesh as she fights a flush and a whisper of  _ mi amor  _ that threatens to slip out. She doesn’t know why she would say it; especially to him, the playboy of the Lions. 

His head dips to suck on her tit, making her clench tighter, grasping onto him for dear life. “Sylvain, I—“ She whispers, his tongue trailing back up her chest, neck and to the shell of her ear. His breath is hot against it, his hitched breath making her heart thud quicker and quicker.

She feels close, as though she’s about to come. Funny, she can come with him, but not with anyone else, not even herself. Maybe it’s because he’s just as scandalous, as salacious as she, known for chasing hearts and skirts. And even after she had taken guests back at Mittelfrank, she’d never feel quite so pleased or fulfilled. She’d have to finish herself off in the quiet of her own dressing room, staring at the wilting roses they’d left as she caught her breath. 

But with Sylvain—his hands tight around her ass, his chest against hers, his lips roving her body and his eyes locked with hers—she feels at ease. She feels... pleased and perhaps... well,  _ perhaps _ , even loved.

She’s about to choke it out when he loosens his grasp on her, kisses her hard and then blows his load on the stone walls. Her legs shaky, she braces herself against the arches, adjusting her panties back in place. 

After he’s finished and caught his breath, he puts his cock away and turns back to her. He gives a soft smile before standing up, his breathing still a little laboured, and tries to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. She lets him, his fingers lingering for a second before he tries to kiss her. She turns her cheek.

Dorothea’s fingers slide down her uniform, trying to smooth over the wrinkles. Sylvain’s hands follow, his fingers lacing between hers for a second as he tries to hold her close. A lapse of her mind, she thinks she can hear footsteps. His head rests in the crook of her neck and shoulder, her perfume almost drowned out by the smell of sex and lust. She’ll have to freshen up properly before returning. But really, the other students may damn well look as bad too. After all, this is probably the one night where everyone in the monastery will get some.

Sylvain lifts his face to hers, studying the curve of her brow, the tip of her nose, the feathery lashes around her eyes, and most of all, her parted lips. He turns her face to hers, gazing back into her eyes. 

“Allow me to kiss you?” Her lips purse before Sylvain smirks, repeating himself. “Dorothea, please  _ dorogoy _ ?” His voice is soft, just above a whisper.

And hers is just as quiet, her mouth moving from his and down to her chin. Her eyes focus on her fingers, buttoning up her blazer. “No.” She says. 

“If not your lips then allow me the honour of kissing your hand.”

Her gaze narrows before giving a slight nod. He raises her hand to his lips, pressing gently. He turns back into the playboy, resting his hands on his hips and narrowing his gaze on her. “Could I have the next dance when we return?” Sylvain asks.

Dorothea shakes her head, adjusting her hat and making sure that she doesn’t look totally slutted up. No doubt that Edelgard will ask where she’s been. “I don’t mix romance with fucking.” She says. “After all, there’s no such thing as true love.”

“Too bad, I do like to dance.” Sylvain says, before reaching for her hand. He presses another kiss to the back of it, and he whispers into her ear. “And there is. It’s lucky love, my sweet.”


End file.
